


You, Me, and Paperwork Makes Three

by ObsidianMichi



Series: Abelas and Lavellan at Skyhold [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-10
Updated: 2015-02-10
Packaged: 2018-03-11 12:15:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3326909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObsidianMichi/pseuds/ObsidianMichi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Skyhold, Eirwen Lavellan tries to continue working in bed. Meanwhile, Abelas proves to be a formidable distraction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You, Me, and Paperwork Makes Three

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** I own nothing, but all comments and kudos are greatly appreciated.

The bed sheets rustled as Eirwen kicked them away, disrupting the tall pile of missives in front of her. The towering stack shuddered, shifted. One foot catching on a glittering, golden blanket and she tumbled backwards. Hitting warm skin and a sold, broad chest. A pair of hands settled on her shoulders, rough callused fingertips and palms rough and tingling as they slid down her arms. A sharp chin rested in her hair. Then, those solid arms closed around her and Abelas pulled her tight against him.

“Indeed, Lethallan,” he said. “You are feisty in the mornings.”

“Abelas!” She held up a sheet of parchment. Thick lines smudged beyond all recognition. “I’m working!”

His legs kicked out on either side, thick thighs closing around her, cinching her waist as he flopped into the pillows. “I know,” he replied. “In the time we spend together, it has grown increasingly clear.” His head tilted, sharp cheek brushing against her temple, he murmured, “you never stop.”

Trapped by his arms and his legs, she wriggled. One hand clenched around her quill, the other dropping the crumpled paper to the bed. Whipping up the feather, she stretched toward his finely tipped aquiline nose. Thick black ink dribbled on her stomach, catching on her elbow, slipping off onto his forearm. She turned, the fine hawk tail feather twitched on his skin.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his nose wrinkle.

His arms squeezed tighter.

“There aren’t enough hours in the day,” she said.

“And you determinedly make them up with your nights,” Abelas replied. “You sleep, perhaps, four hours?”

She frowned. “Maybe.” The feather twitched again, twice as fast. “How do you know?”

“It is the minimum requirement,” Abelas said. His mouth slipped over the surface of her cheek. Rough bumps of old scars moving against her skin. The hot rush of his exhale, the shivering pull of indrawn breath skating on her nose. His words a warm whisper in her ear, “this pace you cannot keep.”

“I know.” Eirwen sighed. “There’s just so much to get done.” She leaned forward, collecting another sheaf from her stack. “See? From the Comte de Montfort!” Waving it under his nose, she let out another exasperated groan. “Wants special reparations for the Inquisition’s actions regarding the _abduction_ ,” she emphasized ‘abduction’ with an ironic twist, “of nearly twenty livestock. Though they were removed at his farmer’s request due the area’s rifts and demonic activity, they have since been returned.”

“Then he deserves nothing,” Abelas said.

“He claims emotional damages, the event has been highly traumatizing to his family.”

“Does he view the druffalo as blood kin?”

She giggled. “I don’t think so.” She shook her head. “Josephine thinks he has dowry concerns for his three daughters. Combined with a meager winter, a rise in opportunistic raiders following displacement in Orlais, he obviously needs coin from somewhere. I should put him in the trouble pile, shouldn’t I?”

With a sigh, Abelas plucked the parchment from her fingers. Lifting it up, she felt his lips move against her ear, shifting in time with his gaze as he read. Finally, after a few moments, he sighed again.

“What?”

“ _Shemlen_ script is vexing.”

Eirwen flicked his nose with her quill. “If I, a slow-witted and flitting Dalish shadow, found it within myself to be able to learn then I’m sure the great Abelas can—”

His teeth closed on her ear, then shut with a snap.

She jerked against him, gasping.

A pleased chuckle rumbled against her back. “Even in Arlathan, we had such nobles. Fools all, yet even the most powerful have those whose whims they must bow before. I suppose pacifying him will be necessary?”

“He apparently has connections to Northern trade routes through the Anderfels.”

“I believe I begin to understand,” Abelas nodded. “Those we will need if we are to secure lighter tariffs for that elven caravan out of Toulon.”

“Mmm,” she nodded. “I can’t afford to get rid of him either. The Comte is mostly stable, runs his city and estates well, is fair to the vast majority of the populace, and he has an elven mistress whose pet project is introducing more elven merchants into Toulon’s main trade district. More, it’s a region hub. Whatever trends there may spread to surrounding areas.”

“May I never understand Orlesians and their desire to rule social politics through what is fashionable,” Abelas said.

Eirwen laughed. Then, her eyes fell back to the sheaf of parchment. Glumly, she sighed. “The whole thing’s going nowhere if the Comte can’t provide for his daughters.”

“Your Lady Josephine offers another solution.”

“Marriage for his eldest to a prominent merchant family’s second son in Rivain, I know.” Eirwen sighed. “I just hate this business of using women as bargaining chips.” Her mouth yanked sideways. “It feels like every problem opens a gate to twenty more.”

A gentle kiss brushed her shoulder. “Or,” he said. “You are avoiding the obvious.”

Pursing her lips, Eirwen picked up another missive from the pile. She leaned back and rested her cheek against his. His arm encircled her waist, warm, strong, and supportive. “I guess,” Eirwen said. “I’ve been having issues controlling my dreams.” She turned and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I don’t even want to go looking for Solas, but my dream self hasn’t gotten the message.”

His mouth quirked. A sad smile, not an unusual expression for him, but this one was commiserating. “Ir abelas, Lethallan,” he said. “This is one area where I can offer little assistance.”

“I know.” She rolled, sliding down his chest, and buried her nose in his neck. “I just thought you should.”

Abelas shifted, unhooking his legs and adjusting so she could lay comfortably. One arm dropped lower, his fingertip tracing the curve his hip. Warm breath tickled her hair. With his free hand, he tossed the report back to the bed. “Ma serannas, Inquisitor,” he murmured. “It is unexpected, but not unappreciated.”

“Eirwen,” she said.

He paused. “Eirwen.”

“I don’t want to keep stuff from you,” Eirwen said. She closed her eyes. “I think I’ve had enough of lies, half-truths, misleading stories, and outright misinformation.” She groaned. “I just want one place in my life where I can be honest.” Her nose nuzzled the curve of his neck. “From here on out, Abelas, it’s an open door honesty policy.”

“Then,” Abelas said. “In the spirit of honesty, I must tell you the truth.”

“Oh.” She snuggled against him. He was warm, surprisingly comfortable for a man with so many hard edges. Warm, comfortable, and oh, so safe. Lashes fluttering, she yawned. “No.”

“You cannot run from this forever.” Abelas’ warm voice rumbled from his chest, low and deep. “You must face these dreams.”

“Knew you’d say that.”

“Common sense dictates all.” Abelas chuckled. “It is possible these do not mean what you believe.”

She sighed, her arm flopped on his chest. Left leg stretched sideways. Drowsily, she murmured, “what if they do?” Fingertips traced the cross-shaped scars on his chest, finding the bumps of old burns, of ancient battle wounds. “I’m not ready, Abelas.”

“You are, Lethallan.” His lips moved in her hair. “You are stronger than you realize.”

Lips drifting against his neck, Eirwen swallowed. “What if I don’t want to be strong?” she asked. Sitting up, she studied him. “What if I’m tired of it?” Her fingers followed the curve of his cheek, down to his sharp chin, and across to his lips. Leaning down, she smirked. “What if I want to be weak and helpless, and swaddled like a babe. You know, just weak, weak, weak—”

He yanked her down, their lips meeting in a slow, gentle kiss.

“You are who you are,” he murmured. “Should you asking for a handicap on the practice courts, however, I may oblige.”

“Oh!” Giving him a solid thwack with her knuckles, Eirwen grinned. “I like that! Admit one little weakness,” she sang, “and they all try to take you for the full ride!”

Abelas laughed. “Indeed.”

“Indeed,” she repeated, kissing him again. "Indeedy, deed."

**Author's Note:**

> This was another piece of a Kiss Meme prompt, which I am still working on. You all get the drabbles early, if in pieces. Yay! Abelas and Eirwen do this together, I don't know why. They just enjoy working on... stuff. Paperwork, mostly. I hope you enjoyed this bit of silliness.
> 
> If you liked this remember to leave a kudo or a comment. I cherish every single one I get.


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